


Stuck In A Web, A Caged Spider

by Fogsy_Feel



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Bad Parenting, Bad relations between Peter and the Avengers, Canon-Typical Violence, Criminal Peter, Drug Use, Eventual Happy Ending, He's compliacted, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, On the avengers behalf, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter needs help for most of this, Romance, Secret Identity, Sexual Themes, Slow Burn, Small mentions of food and eating issues due to spiderpowers, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wade is caring and also morally off, kind of, memory problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28191828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogsy_Feel/pseuds/Fogsy_Feel
Summary: Juggling post incarceration for a drug possession charge that wasn't his fault, life's hard for a spider.When Peters life falls into the hands of a cruel fate, He must learn how to work in the most dangerous of places whilst dealing with an overbearing past mentor and his new dangerous tool. he must to figure out a new way to survive, or fail in the process.Not to mention the new lure of enticing contraband and the sudden appearance of a rather loudmouthed mercenary in his life. Peter couldn't say things where going great.—Addiction, Bad coping mechanisms, A new job at a shady bar and romantic prospects shoved all in there. Peter gets put through the ringer (Rewritten/Revamped old fic)
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 40





	1. Where it begins

**Author's Note:**

> Peter's little journey through the past, and after it. Facing the old mentor he can't bare anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter's little journey through the past, and after it. Facing the old mentor he can't bare anymore.

The correctional centre was chronically understaffed, severely overcrowded and as dense as a tin of sardines. It’s walls shifted from yellow to grey and looking into the flickering lights for too long lead more often than not to flickering purple dots filling up a dry vision. The lack of breeze or any form of fresh air had Peter nauseous and he contemplated escape more times than he cared to admit.

He’d never actually escape though. After all, he was just a young man who just ‘ _made a few mistakes_.’ All things considering his sentence was pretty light and he knew not to jeopardise his identity with such a reckless move.

He only had to last twelve more hours. Then he’d be free… or as free as an ex-con could be.

One of his roommates looked up at him from next to their shared toilet. He was new to the room but Peter was quite sure he’d served time before, If only because he was mostly convinced he’d detained the guy once on a patrol.

The man didn’t know that though and looked up almost curiously. “So were you headed Parker? Once you get out of here.”

For all his internal planning Peter wasn’t too sure himself. He couldn’t bear to impose on Aunt May, the fit she had when she’d found out about the drugs was enough of the disappointment he could handle. He couldn’t go back to his dorm room because his college wasn’t all too happy about the criminal activity he’d committed and the fact that he’d been found out during a bag check on campus.

“Not sure. Bounce around a little, get a job. Go check out where Ricky is.”

The man nodded before closing his eyes and leaning back. “I ever see you back here and I'll carve your eyes out.” The man spoke harmful words but seemed to try to sound encouraging.

Peter huffed and put on his best intimidating face. _He missed the mask_. “I’d like to see you try.”

A chilling laugh echoed through the room.

* * *

A small Dominican man with a curled moustache and a tie dye shirt met Peter out on the street. Ricky smiled widely before patting Peter on the shoulder and laughing. “I’ve come to pick you up!”

Peter looked around, noticing no on else familiar before looking back. ”You have a car?”

“Car! This is New York Parker, we walk.”

Peter shrugged not quite knowing where he was going but knowing it would be better than a makeshift web hammock and paced himself slowly beside Ricky.

Ricky was only three years older than Peter, a proud eccentric man of twenty three. Peter wasn’t quite sure why his old cellmate had taken an interest to offer the help he wasn’t quite in the mindset to refuse. Ricky had been a dealer, and was lucky to leave such little evidence of his crimes to get such a little sentence. At first Peter wondered if Ricky took a kinship to him partly because their crimes had been so similar.

Six months later and he new better. Ricky was dealing again and he was sure the guy was in need of a new _‘business’_ partner. Ricky was kind in the way a bank dealer was kind, If Ricky hadn't been born in the circumstances he had Peter would have bet on him being a good businessman.

He was going to refuse the man's offer of course. Spiderman doesn’t deal drugs. Peter Parker doesn’t either though being found with a bag full of them after a particularly disastrous patrol may have suggested otherwise. He only needs a few days to get back off his feet, get a job and get enough money for a motel. After he’d move on from there.

Ricky’s place consisted of a blow up mattress, a couch, and a plastic white round table that looked suspiciously like it was from every gangster movie ever. Peter wondered if the man was trying to impress him.

Ricky pointed to the couch. “Viola! Just dump your bag wherever.”

Peter stood still in the walkway, pondering the heat of the room. “It’s hot in here.”

“Blame the landlord. He thinks adding a fan counts as ventilation.”

Peter felt his hand twitch inwards and sighed internally. He had things to do. Leads to follow. There was no way no one hadn’t noticed Spidermans six month break. His eyes drifted towards the couch and he felt his limbs start to crumble in exhaustion. _Spiderman could wait another night_. He collapsed into the firm yellow cushions and pondered at his bag. All he really had was his phone in which he was sure had no credit, and from what he remembered maybe thirty dollars in cash. 

* * *

Peter didn’t remember waking up. He didn’t remember how he’d ended up jogging through the streets in the dark cold morning but he figured it had something to do with his half arachnid biology and the horrible climate of the basement. For a man whose body becomes dormant in the cold his hatred of heat and carried over after the bite.

He doesn't really know how his thoughts had jumbled together into a course of action but he wasn’t surprised when he found himself outside Stark Tower, just faraway enough to not be detected by the cameras.

If Peter had his way he’d never set foot in that tower again. The inhabitants were nosy and arrogant, the team was not all up to what the media made it out to be and in all honestly he never seemed to have pleasant time around the Avengers. 

Cold air nipped at his ears. He needed warmth otherwise he’d end up out cold on the pavement. Winter was on its way, the hardest season for Spider-work. His highly sensitive hand and feet always became chaffed and uncontrollably frozen in his old suit and no matter the heating instalments a suit as tight as Peters always had horrible temperature control.

The old suit had it’s problems, Peter still missed it...and Tony would certainly be a dick about him losing it.

_In all hindsight his plan hadn’t been the best_ , though there was not much to be done when late to a particularly important chemistry lecture. Peter kicked his foot out in frustration, remembering the events that lead to Spider Man's disappearance.

It had been a normal day patrolling really, not much crime around eleven in the morning but Peter had been making the best of it, trying out new types of web as he went. Some were stickier than normal, others snapped at the first sign of friction. It seemed like a good uneventful day to test out his new batches.

And just like the day it had been the standard drug deal. Two shady guys bargaining over a shady bag. They were newbies, amateurs. Peter could tell by the way they hunched and held the bag like it contained a bomb. They talked in a way only dealers who've seen deals in movies go and spoke in tropes.

“ _You got the stuff?”_

 _“Yeah. Boss expects distribution to go well so don’t disappoint_.”

Peter knew he could have been listening to them, whatever they are saying could be important. His attention had wavered though and he focused in on the heavy looking bag. The sweetest scent of strawberry filled Peters senses and before he could stop himself he leaned in almost mesmerised. For almost a second he wanted it, needed—He snapped himself away, knowing whatever was inside that bag was dangerous enough to tempt him. He had half a mind to call someone higher up on the roster than ‘ _friendly neighbourhood Spiderman_.’ He wouldn’t though.

Peter prepared to lace his voice in sarcasm before jumping down. “ _Hey fellas! Sorry to interrupt your whole criminal bad guy shtick—but I don't suppose you could hand that bag over_?”

Two seconds ticked by as he awaited the frivolous moment they scattered like mice.

He flicked his hand forward at the first step aiming for the bag, and his lenses widened as he saw what came out wasn’t web. The white threads were jagged and swung through the air in a lightning motion with sharp mesmerising shards poking out and releasing a million refraction's of light around the alley. Before he could take it back the webs hit the bag with a fierce thunk. _Bad Batch._

Peter knew pulling back would only lead to the dealers head having a fearsome greeting with the alley pavement so his only option was to run behind the men, attached by a dangerously sharp leash. His webs malfunctioning wouldn’t be the only scorn of the day though. 

His feet patterned leaps at a time as the men took clumsy twists and turned through the alleyways, finally entering some form of old warehouse. Peter hadn’t paid much attention to the old building as he watched the men quickly ditch the bag he was attached to inside. He didn’t bother to follow them. They were just clumsy lackeys who’d put too much of a fight and with Peters webs in such a state he couldn’t risk harming them.

His curiosity took over once he finally had the bag, nearly ripping the zipper open and gazing in only to be flushed with the most potent sickly sweet scent he’d caught only moments before.

It was like children's medicine, pink and bright. If It wasn’t for the circumstances and intoxicating smell Peter would have assumed it was. He’d never encountered such a substance as this and his mind raced and the possibilities about what it could be. 

He wasn’t allowed much time to ponder though. When the calm feigned a precise settle and only the sounds of dripping pipes and his own elated breath could be heard through his buzzing ears, a hint of smoke arose past the bag.

It was enough for Peter to lift his head and identify the precise smell. It was Toxic and migraine inducing. Though he was Spiderman even with his heightened senses and smokey warning, There was not much to be done when gasoline met match, and fire struck out.

He remembers _red_ . The bright red flames surrounding him and an explosive display. His tight _red_ suit melting from and into his flesh like melting ice. He hardly felt the burn though, some lucky mix of adrenaline and shock was enough mercy to give him a painless albeit staggered escape. Still he felt his damaged skin fibres reach out and latch to the melting latex, fixing the suit to his body and saving him from the burns he’s sure no normal person would endure. He gripped the bag tightly as he made his way through and only came into consciousness in spouts of heavy breathing and screams until he finally made his way safe.  
  


His dorm room, empty during the day, allowed him enough safety to deal with most of his injuries. He had pulled his suit of like wax, ripping it from the clutch of his cheek harshly while disinfecting cuts along his legs in a way clumsier than he usually performed.

Peter thinks, if only he hadn’t the need to care so much. If only he had taken the fall to skip just _one_ class, he wouldn’t have ended up in the crammy hell of a correctional centre.

He hadn’t trusted to leave the bad alone in his dorm, who knows what his roommates would do if they found it? In hindsight though Peter probably should have trusted himself not to look so guilty walking around with what he was sure was contraband.

“ _Can we just check through your bag son?_ ”

Watching a mountain of pills and powder fall across the table was more frightening than the first time he met the Avengers.

* * *

Tony’s lab was a marvel. Even with their tenuous relationship at best Peter still missed the day’s Tony would take him here to try out some new web slingers or spider-suit. It seemed every wall was filled with some fantastical contraption straight out of a book and Peter, still young and blind, found fun amongst the dark world of heroism.

Peter even now could appreciate the scientific wonders amongst the lab but apart from that all that really filled his mind was a petty sort of fury. _Why had a teenager been allowed in here? Who allows a kid into his type of world?_

Even though Tony didn’t and still doesn’t know who Spiderman _really_ is, it was obvious Peter was young. Inexperienced. He should have been pushed away, but now he was a part of something he can never really leave.

It had been a few years since Peter had found himself inside the tower and he hadn’t a clue the A.I’s name anymore. “Tell Tony I’m here.” He yelled out while tugging awkwardly on his makeshift mask. It was an ugly purple scarf nicked from an unsuspecting balcony, he’d have to remember to return it later on.

Instead of the A.I a dishevelled voice answered back. “Who’s there!”

“Stark?” he swivelled around.

“...Kid?”

Tony appeared lit only by fluorescent machine lights, a gun in hand slowly being lowered and a wide eyed look upon his face.

Peter faced away. “Don’t call me kid.”

“Where have you been?”

“Always quick with the questions.”

Tony's emotions hardened and Peter figured maybe he should act a little nicer when he wanted something from the man... but he couldn’t find the niceties within himself.

“Fuck.” the man swore, “Your little disappearing act has been all over the news! I tried to call and guess what? _Radio silence_. I reckon a few questions are _certainly_ warranted.”

Peter folded his arm. “Fine. Shoot.”

“Where have you been?”

“Here and there.”

“Are you safe?”

Peter thought about his roommate, the basement, his financial situation. “Yep.”

“What happened to my suit?”

Peter became stumped at that one. “ _Yeah_ …about that.”

“No.”

“C’mon! I really need one.”

“Listen kid.”

“Don’t call me kid. I turned twenty like five months ago.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at the information but continued. “I’ll stop when you stop whining like a little _kid_. I’m no charity Spiderman.”

Peter stilled, knowing where this as headed. “What do you want?”

Tony laughed halfheartedly. “Smart kid. Follow me.”

* * *

Tony remembers the first suit he ever made for Spiderman. It was a short, easy project he’d worked on before he even met the kid. Back then the vigilante had run around in some hastily sewn up hoodie with goggles. Tony had been tempted to locate the kid, check out whether those photos and videos were true or not. Of course before he could the young mutant had found himself in a little more trouble than he could handle and after a rushed meeting and a little measurements the rest was history. 

“I can’t keep giving you shit if you wont play team.”

“I’m not joining the avengers.”

Tony remembers the first time the kid refused. After almost a year of fangirling over the heroes the kid had straight up refused, spouting some excuse about his civilian issues. Tony was sure now it had been high school but back then he’d been eager to brush off the thought.

Even now though Tony wasn’t quite sure why Spiderman so fiercely refused.

“Yeah yeah you're a _lone wolf_ or whatever. Look, all I'm asking for is a little cooperation. You've heard of the recent mutant attacks, right?”

“The what?”

Tony stumbled. “Have you been living under a rock these past months?”

“I've been preoccupied.”

A million worries sullied his train of thought. He wondered if the kid had been kidnapped, or caught up in some scheme. 

“Well _anyway_. The teams stumped on why they’re happening.” _I’m stumped._ “So many in such a little time, with almost all of them not retaining memory of their attacks. Seemingly normal people. You're closer to the citizens than all of us are. You could be vital in helping figure this out. They are your lot after all.”

“My lot?”

“You know, civilians, mutants.”

Spiderman seemed to bite back his tongue before replying. “Fine, I’ll keep a ear out... Can I get another suit now?”

“What happened to the suit.”

“It melted.”

It took a second for Tony to comprehend that. “What.”

“Followed some drug dealers into a warehouse that had just so happened to have walls painted in gasoline. There was a fire and it melted.” His voice didn't waver.

Tony wondered if he actually wanted all his questions answered. “C’mon, let's look through some then, and get you out of that ridiculous scarf.”

Tony wasn’t surprised when the kid picked the newest model. Spiderman could always sniff out technological marvels in the lab like a hound dog, it was a talent really.

“How’s the heaters in this one?”

Stark Scoffed. “Better than the old one I assure you. The A.I has perfect voice recognition if you choose to use it and the fabric is as strong as the Hulk's skin. I also assume this one is less likely to… melt.”

It took a couple moments for him to change but Spiderman visibly relaxed when he came out with the mask on.

“Before you go, remember my request. This isn’t about the team, this is about seemingly normal mutants attacking the city. I’m not asking you as a teammate or partner, I’m just asking for a favour.”

“Like I said Stark, Ears out. I’ll be seeing you… whenever.”

Before Tony could mutter a goodbye the kid was headfirst out the window and he was on his way to another drink.

* * *

The wind whipped and slashed at Peter though he couldn’t feel past his smile. He reached out his hand and let himself fall before flicking back up over the sleeping city. If he paid enough attention he could probably look out for criminals, do his job.

Tonight wasn’t the night though, and for those moments he let himself revel in the wondrous feeling of being Spiderman that had captured his heart those years ago.

Everything was so much clearer up high and for the first time in months Peter let out a triumphant howl that echoed past the birds and to the bleak beautiful city moon.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an old story revamped and made a little more mature, with what I think is better writing overall and a much more meaningful story that delves into some deeper problems. Hopefully this version lives up to my hopes of the first one.


	2. A New Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter And Ricky scout out a new available and most definitely sketchy bartender position, and contemplation on Peter's instincts and mutation arises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Discussions of Peters instincts from the spider bite and symptoms of it may come across as an eating disorder or symptoms of one. Even briefly dressed mentions of compulsion for eating, obsession over when and where his next meal will be and paranoia and fear over food occur.
> 
> Peter also experiences small instances of cannibalistic thoughts due to his spider mutation.
> 
> Please comment if I left anything out~

Screams filled the underground as the massive building creaked in agony. It was as if a natural disaster had struck itself upon the once area, and remained terrorised even as the Hero's arrived. Tony analysed the scene from afar, bewildered and annoyed at another attack. It had only been a few days since the last one, hadn't it been a couple months ago when these things only happened once or twice a month? Whatever was causing this was upping their anti, and Stark couldn't say that brought him any comfort.

“ _Metal-Man_! It’s a rarity to get a house call from one such as yourself.”

Tony grunted and dropped down behind the concrete pillar. As if his day could get _any_ worse.

Black Widow spoke into her intercom. “Who called him?”

“No one!” Tony hissed.

 _Deadpool_ hummed towards himself. “Really, then why can I hear groaning?”

“I wonder!” Tony looked up to see a crowd of people running towards the exit of the parking lot away from the _problem_.

“That guy doesn’t look happy.”

He didn’t. From what he could tell the mutant was some mutation of man and lion, and the guy continued to roar and tear up any cars and pillars that so much as blurred into his vision.

Natasha didn’t seem too impressed. “That’s like the third one this week.”

“Hopefully this guy doesn’t spit acid!” The merc interfered

Tony groaned. “Deapool! Are you here to help? Cause if you're not you’ll be terminated from my sight!”

“Calm Stark! This guy doesn’t seem so bad. Rember the concrete one?”

“I’ll have you killed.”

“You can try!” the mercenary seemed amused. 

“Get out!”

Deapool laughed. “Nah, I’m fine right here.” 

“Tony! The Hulks here!”

“Shit, stay put Pool.”

The man cocked a gun. “You sure. I think I could be of some _assistance_.”

Tony knew going against the merc wouldn’t end well for him, and though his ego hated himself for it, no commands he spoke could actually force Deadpool to stay put. 

“Stay outta my way.”

A bullet went off with a feint victory scream that Tony had already decided _wasn’t_ his problem.

* * *

Peter groaned as he heard clanging from the makeshift kitchen, waking up from his mostly deep sleep. His feet twitched and an ache sprang across his restless body. 

Ricky didn’t comment on Peter’s disappearance from the night before and only nodded as he walked through the door.

“Pete! How were we feeling about pancakes this fine morning? I know a place.”

“I only have like, thirty bucks.”

“That should be enough.”

Peter enjoyed travelling around New York, even in the early morning. He’d probably done hundreds of laps around the city in six years and he’d learned to see the great differences from Queens to Manhattan. There was always more to notice. That’s what cities are like, forever moving and forming into something new and great and horrible. He can't imagine himself living outside of New York. The world doesn't really exist for him outside of it. He knew even with the struggles the city places on him, Peter was born here, and he'd be damned if he doesn't die here. He won't go like his parent's, in a random point, a blip far away from home. It must have been impersonal for them, and if Peter had any say in the matter, even though the thought was grim, He knew he'd quite like his final moments to be in Queens. It doesn't get more personal for Peter than Queens.

Peter wasn’t quite sure he’d be going back to Queens anytime soon though. His territory had been abandoned for six months, and he wasn’t sure how he’d go back. There was too much to face in Queens. The thoughts of it depressed him, and faintly it felt like if he never went back there, he'd never die... 

Ricky sat across from him in the small dinner and tapped the table impatiently.

“I just heard about this new job that came up, I think you could be good for it.”

 _Oh no._ “Ricky, i’m not a cri—”

“It’s legal! I think…”

Peter sighed and waited for the man to continue, knowing he’d deny it.

“This guy I know, his bartender had a relapse or something and is back in rehab. From what I've heard you share the same skills as this guy.”

“I’ve never severed drinks in my life.”

“Not _those_ skills! Anyway you're a fast learner! I’ve heard it pays well and it wouldn’t hurt to talk.”

"Ricky."

"Dude! I hate to say it man but you can't freeload forever. You need to get a job sooner or later and were both aware the kind of reputation incarceration gets. You've got to try."

Peter wasn’t quite sure what to say, his fingers twitched towards his palms on instinct and he breathed slowly before replying. “What is this place exactly?”

“That was quick.” 

“You made me feel bad.”

The an shrugged “We’ll go this afternoon, I doubt my guys awake this early.”

“It’s like, ten o’clock.”

“Not everyone gets to sleep soundly through the nights Peter, some people work then.”

He almost laughed.

* * *

Peter had a few hours before his supposed interview, so he decided to make a day of it. He was glad to have still remembered most of his passwords as he checked his emails through the library computer before printing off a couple copies of his resume. The first place he handed it into was an old grocer, who smelt of tobacco and cursed at a local stray. Peter didn’t wait long enough to see if his resume had been chucked or discarded before he had said his thanks and paced out. He did this for a while, walking amongst the area of shops and businesses until all he was left with was one paper left.

His eyes glazed over the nearest window shop. A quaint bakery, painted with yellow and white and every time the door opened Peter got a good whiff of fresh bread and chocolate. He gazed longingly at a baguette in the window, which had been placed down by a stubby older lady who had lips painted pink and a sheepish look directed at a familiar customer.

Peter looked down at his last resume, his sweaty hands gripping against themselves, sticking together like double sided tape. _Maybe_ this place wouldn’t care about his criminal status. They looked kind, peaceful. A place he might quite like to be at. Why stigmatise himself any further by going to a shady place for a definitely shady job. Not all criminals were repeat, and he wasn't even a criminal!

The breads and sweets beckoned at him from behind glass and a price and Peter was quickly reminded of the only benefit of prison. Then he at least _knew_ when his next meal would be. Even if the meals were subpar and didn’t ever fulfil his incredibly fast metabolism at least he needn’t worry whether or not to pay for food or rent.

He almost took the step forward. Almost walked in, spent three dollars on a sticky bun and made talk. He almost brushed his growing hair aside and broke out his most convincing smile while handing in his resume. For a second he almost thought about explaining his situation. Oh how he yearned for sympathetic ears. Yearned to be told to sit down, asked for his name. For nearly but a blink in the grand scheme of a city the man almost made himself seen.

Then he noticed the woman. Black hair greying and tired blue eyes faced the outside and a familiar aunt made herself unknowingly seen stepping out of a million bakeries at once. Every bakery in New York becomes no man's land in a second. Peter doesn’t remember the name of the place as he runs out of view, does not remember what street though he knows all streets in the city. All he knows now is that it’s better to buy bread from supermarkets.

* * *

_Hell House?_ Peter frowns, he’s heard stories of this place though not many, a lone wolfs superhero grapevine is quite small really. Even still he can’t say he’s heard _good_ things. He’s just glad the sun won’t set for another hour, he can’t think of his first time coming here being in the dark. Even with powers, things turn ugly in the dark.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this Rick.” He really didn't. His senses beat quiet but worryingly in his ear like sirens from another city.

“Oh hush!”

The bar, or club, looked like it was taken straight out of some mafia movie from the seventies. The windows from the front and upper walls were blacked out and the inside seemed to almost go for a rustic atheistic, if only because every table and chair looked to be some old wooden furniture that went out of style when woodcarvers stopped being a thing.

Ricky yelled out, ignoring the stink eye he got from the only other man inside the bar. Peter eyes the guy, he was built very broad and muscular and the knives on his belt didn’t help. He was the kind of person someone like Peter Parker _should_ be scared of. And even with his biological advantages he still kind of was.

“Weasel, I got you a guy!”

A higher pitched voice than he expected called out in a grumpy irritable tone. “Rick? You're out? This better not be like last time!”

“It’s not! C’mon I trust this guy.” Peter wasn’t quite sure trust was the thing he and Ricky had.

A spindly man with shaved black hair and round glasses popped out from the back. His face was scrunched and a long scar traced along his neck. Peter figured this was Weasel. The name seemed fitting.

Weasel eyed Peter up and down and Peter realised this probably wasn’t the kind of place you bring a resume to. After a moment Weasel turned to Rick unimpressed.

“Fuck no.”

Ricky grunted. "What! Why?”

“ _Why_? Look at him! He probably can’t even drink legally! How is a toddler supposed to make drinks and take care of himself here?”

Peter twitched. For some unknown reason this guy insinuating he couldn’t handle himself reminded him awfully of a few other superiors he’d had once before, but he recognised this time… maybe he could prove himself. 

“We were in prison together...”

Ricky’s smile widened. “See!”

Weasel continued to scowl, and his continued disapproval taunted Peter like a game begging for him to win.

“That means nothing to me kid. Ricky here was in the clink for drugs, and I'm willing to bet you’re in his boat as well. If he can’t handle a job here I _really_ don’t see how you can.”

“He's a mutant!”

It was spoken so fast Peter almost missed it, a few crucial words tried to float idly by his ears as if they weren't about to shatter the earth.

Weasel noticed. “Oh?”

Peter swivelled to the man standing next to him and gawked. “What! H—How I!” He hadn't remembered to deny.

Ricky hushed. “Everyone knew! You were all twitchy and off for months. You threw Jerry across the gym!”

Those months were hard for Peter. Confined and small, like a spider trapped under a glass every move he made was loose and frenzied. He shrugged to remember most days were a blurry numb series of movements and no incident described to him was retained within his memory. He's sure he'd never even met a Jerry. _Do they think i’m Spiderman? Who has he told? How many people know?_

“Look what you’ve done Rick you've freaked him all out. You should be careful with these things.” Even with those words Weasel seemed to smirk.

“You can't say you're not interested. I’ve seen this guy! He’d got skills! I mean… he’s a little twitchy but, better than nothing?”

“ _Huh_!” Peter needed to sit, something about this sent alarm bells within his head, it was as if the strings of fate were deciding his own mere metres away from him.

“Okay kid—”

Peter’s head swivelled again. “Don’t call me _kid_.” 

“Okay jeez—you know what? Ricks got me intrigued, But you don’t look too interested.”

He huffed, pretending his whole body wasn't compelling him to run. “How much are you paying?”

“Lets just say enough to get out of Rick's place.”

“How legal is this?”

“As legal you’re willing to go. Being a bartender’s perfectly fine if you can protect yourself. Of course whatever you’ve got in that DNA of yours could be of some use for some extra cash… all depends on you.”

“I’ve never learned how to make drinks.”

“You have google?”

Peter remembered his beaten old out of credit phone. “No.”

Weasel shrugged. “I can print stuff out. Not like my guys care, as long as you can clean a glass and pour a drink.”

“Oh—uhh.”

“The question is, do you _want_ the job.”

He was stumped at this. The opportunity in front of him was probably a mixture of nearly everything a vigilante fought against. _Spiderman_ wouldn’t have even stepped foot in this place without a plan or plot in mind.

But Peter Parker had…and the slow burning hunger and desperation had called him in. Peter had hardly eaten in hours, and had been forced to stick to the human diet schedule for six months. Maybe he craved a burger, or _head_. His vision had begun to blur at the edges and his legs ached. The emptiness of his wallet and stomach forced this unmoral dilemma. _What's wrong with wanting to move on? Why can’t I care if only a little... for my needs?_

Both men hadn’t seemed to come to the conclusion that Peter was Spiderman, he’s sure if they had he would not be welcome around in a place like this. 

_So what_ if they knew he was a mutant? there’s hundreds of mutants in New York alone, and if this place pays a fraction of what it claims to, he's sure he could quit and set himself up at a better place later down the line. This would be just—temporary.

He finally answered. “Yes.”

Weasel seemed pleased with his words. “Tomorrow then, I can’t say too many people are up to work to work at a place like this so let's hope you can make it through one night. We’ll see what happens after that.”

Ricky pointed himself in. “Yeah Man! Can’t say I’m of no use.”

“What do you want rick?” Weasel sighed. 

“I was wondering how long I have to wait till I'm called out for a run again.”

Peter turned around the moment Ricky spoke, knowing his own business had been dealt with and he _really_ didn’t want to hear more criminal activity happen from the guy currently housing him.

“Tomorrow!”

* * *

The night was eerily silent for once and he couldn’t have been more thankful. Even hours later the question on whether he had done the right thing or not haunted him, especially when he was behind the mask. It was as if everything bad he’d ever done would cause the erasure of Spiderman, and the erasure of what Spiderman stood for. Of course that’s not how things actually worked. He was Spiderman right now and even with Peter's decision he’s still out to do good. Good was all Spiderman _could_ do.

It was easy to separate these two parts of himself, after all _Peter_ could never have been the paragon or hero he turned into after the bite. Even in other aspects Spiderman always seemed better than him. Spiderman was funny and could talk through anything. It seemed without that mask and crutch of the web-slingers Peter Parker was just a bumbly, smart arsed twitchy guy with a knack for causing trouble. He’s not even so sure his friends, or the few he had before, were even surprised at his incarceration. He’d always managed to get himself into bad situations caused by Spiderman and he’s sure his fits of panics he had as a teenager didn’t help that image either.

The break from Spiderman had helped a little in some regards. Sometimes living day and night awake with the moral questions of the universe bombarded at you could take a toll. He just maybe wished that break had been voluntary.

He’s sure he was skinnier now, to an unhealthy rate. When his baby fat had turned into muscle during his mutation Peter noticed that his physical well being, healing and overall function relied on vast amounts of protein and nutrients to be constantly within his reach. And still even when he was able to provide himself food enough for his metabolism some fear or instinct from his mutation caused one very distressing symptom.

Peter _always_ had to know when and what his next meal was. It was like small pulses of paranoia ran through his veins if he didn’t know where or how was going to get his next meal. This compulsion of his, It wasn’t some form of advanced hunger…No this was a manic fear, manageable if once was okay with slight unpredictable movements and the sudden urge to feed and store whatever creature came upon him into his webs.

Despite the worrying symptom and the spider like tendencies that arose from it didn’t really worry Peter. Despite how it sounded no actual ‘instinct’ or need actually dictated his movement or control. He had long since gotten over the fact that sometimes his brain convinced itself that a person looked like an adequate meal for later. Peter knew himself that this was just a fear of a spider, the fear of not being able to find the next meal. He was fully in control, even if the feelings of fear and compulsion where unpleasant.

That's not to say these changes hadn’t worried him at first.

The truth was he’d been petrified. The mere fact his intruding thoughts would spout on about cannibalism or the need to find food when he wasn't hungry was enough to convince Peter he was the reincarnation of all evil for months. No teenager should have to cope with the mutations caused by a radioactive insect and the problems that arose from that. It made the thought of becoming a hero more convincing, and probably initially started his inner separation between his two personas, even when in truth, there really was no difference between Spiderman and Peter. 

How could there be, they are one in the same.

Peter gazed at all the food venues he swung by, he knew he’d have to get money soon, he knew he had to _eat_ soon. The prison had spread him too thin, and even though he was used to the occasional hunger compulsions he’d never had to deal with them for such a long period of time nonstop. Even incarcerated knowing _when_ he was getting food wasn’t too helpful as he also knew it would _never_ be enough. Peter decided to call it a night then, knowing as he continued to stay awake the pulses of hunger and need would only annoy himself further

He groaned entering Ricky’s place, he could smell microwave popcorn, old from maybe hours ago. He knew any semblance of food within the basement would be gone the moment he arrived, as he also knew Ricky wasn’t one to store food. Only buy it then immediately consume. A part of better wondered if Ricky would taste like his last meal, then he shivered at the thought of what he’d _actually_ taste like. 

Peter remembers the smells of burning flesh...

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again comment if I left any warnings out, personally I don't experience any triggers to these topics and don't think I went too deeply into them as I might in later chapters but I know warnings are important.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	3. Imagine A World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning? Smoking and a very weird dream.
> 
> Sidenote: I understand in many stories being factual about certain topics and places are important but a reminder-  
> this is a fictional fanfic, depicting a world like our own but ultimately different. And if adding real non important factors doesn't affect the themes of my story I won't, and if I feel the need to come up with something that is me using my artistic license and/or prioritising my time. I am not trying to depict real life at all, and though I take my time to make sure my depictions of mental issues and stuff along those lines are respectful and interesting, I am am not setting out to depict real circumstances.  
> For all I care the universe within this is entirely my own to play with, And I hope other people find enjoyment or other emotions from the story I tell in it.
> 
> Enjoy! I really liked writing this chapter.

It was cold. A dry itchy cold surrounded by pricks of pain, and the kind of heated ache the freeze caused. He was blue, and If he took the time to pry open his eyes and look at his own body he’d notice the shimmer of it, the transparentness of himself that he already knew.  There was a void around him, dull and dark he refused to acknowledge. It was a waste of the endless amount there seemed to be to do such a thing. He refused to know the void, refused to look or remember.

Something warmed his skin every so often it seemed, hands and palms of red. Where this warm calloused red overlapped on him, and where the lines blurred was a lukewarm purple of their combined existence. Peter wondered if it was a dream, and foolishly convinced himself otherwise. Despite discomfort and the constant changing of manageable temperature depending on where the hands rested, this was a peaceful quiet existence and he didn’t have any desire to leave.

The red hands rested carefully on his stomach, and he was full. There was no hunger here, only carefully peculiar touches and the interesting vice of not knowing, and not needing to know.

— _Suddenly_ it wasn't just a pair of hands. A still gentle but heavier weight rested between the hands on his stomach, a head. A restful one that seemed careful with the weight it put down on him even though the more he thought about it the more he was convinced they were floating. It was a refreshing carefulness and he felt his own hands move down to caress the tired person he couldn’t place and was sure he’d never met, and probably never would meet. He’d never met anyone as gentle with his own freakishly strong body, and he’d never had the time to get so shiveringly close to another body. The more he pondered it, the more he wondered when he’d wake up.

He stayed in the purple and blue and red for a little longer, only a little. He was only permitted a little with it before an intruder announced itself. At first a scent and later picturised in colour, a pink haze surrounded them, until it became him.

He was alone, the figure had been driven off, directed away from the pink. A cloud of sugary sweetness that rotted his teeth and stung the cold. It seemed to sweep over him protective, as if it wasn’t the attack. If attack was the word for it. He could feel the pink enter through his skin, his nose. It tried to become him, tried to consume him. Or tried to be consumed  _ by _ him. It was committed and he didn’t feel so comforted anymore.

He thinks he tried to scream.

Maybe he did try, all he can feel in throat is sugar. His stomach wasn't so full anymore. He wanted to go home. He missed the figure, he missed people.

_ Home?  _ The pink spoke.  _ Where is home?  _ It was worried.  _ People? Where are they? Where were they? _

It spoke like it knew him, like it was him. He wished for silence. He wished to wake up.

_ Wake up? Where will I go? She’s disappointed, He wants to use me. What good would waking up do? _

His blue turned pink.

* * *

Weasel had kept his promise to the kid. He’d printed out a few instructions on drink making and in turn it seemed the guys claim on being a fast learner was true. He’d seemed to immediately learned about the importance of an apathetic facial expression, though Weasel wasn’t too sure if it was intentional or not. The guy also was a mutant so maybe the obvious masking and control of his posture had something to do with that.

He thought about the mutant thing. Weasel knew a few mutants, a side effect of the ‘Industry’ he was in. He didn’t know any too close though. Most of them who made themselves known put themselves to use in the areas that require physical attributes. Bodyguards, Hit men and the like. He’d never seen one so seemingly adamant on being just a bartender. He figured he's soon learn the guys deal. People always have a tendency to tell more than they should. It worked well in Weasels favour _and_ he imagined soon enough he'd know what kind of mutation this guy has, because so far he hadn't noticed too much out of the ordinary.

Peter was his name. Peter Parker. Unlike most guys he meets here Weasel had an easier time finding out about Peter. That happens when people think their lives will go normal. When they have nothing to hide. Of course that just makes things complicated when the things they _do_ hide come out.

From what he could tell the kid was a grade A nerd. Scholarships and the like, high school newspaper worthy. Had been enrolled before they found the drugs and settled for a plea deal. The drugs where an interesting titbit, even if he had assumed so from his associations with Rick. 

Peter didn’t seem like a dealer to him, too morally sound. He didn’t seem like a user either, ignoring the obvious nutrition issues and the twitchy habits. Of course neather of those were really good evidence for any argument and Weasel didn’t want to make assumptions, he just made his workers business  _ his _ business.

The night was getting later, and Weasels worry about how some of his late night customers would treat the new guy worse a little as a group of men entered. He leaned back casually and spoke to Peter.

“You’ve been going okay so far. Don’t make a scene with anyone and you’ll be good. Come to me if anyone's feeling a little handsy.”

His eyes widened slightly, he’d appeared to be running on autopilot up until now.

“Handsy?”

“Well you're someones type, and I can’t vouch for half the people that come in here.”

Peter laughed nervously, his true expression slipped through. “Way to make me feel better.”

“You can handle it.”

He hoped he could, that bartender position would go to someone else if he couldn’t.

The night continued pretty normally for the most part. To give Peter credit for all his nervous looks and worries he was able to hold himself up as the bigger and more obviously armed guys entered. Weasel figured everyone would behave in front of him, at least on the first night. It's too easy to get the mice to scatter immediately, for his customers... well they like a chase. A little side terror outside of their actual jobs.

Weasel went off to the back, opting to leave the kid alone and see how he manages. He also happened to recognise a few guys ready to pick up payment and decided it was best not to unsettle the newbie too much.

* * *

Peter was sure he’d never spent more than an hour in a bar at most before then. It was surreal to picture the way he’d imagined his life to how it ended up panning out. The setting was increasingly baffling and he tried his hardest not to seem new in a place like that. Somehow being surrounded by tipsy men and women, with all forms of guns and knives strapped to them wasn’t the most startling thing. It couldn’t be, Peter had purposefully surrounded himself with weapons and danger since he was fifteen. Without an actual need to hide his mutant strength here he had no  _ real _ reason to be afraid. 

Peter remembered, as much as he was able, the first time he’d entered a bar. He knows it’d been with school friends. High school peers with names on the tip of his tongue and faces he can’t place. He’s sure a crush had convinced him to sneak in, though the more he thought about it the more he couldn’t remember many aspects of said crush. He’s sure it’d been a girl, but he couldn’t be sure, and the reason for the crush was beyond him at this point. All he really knows is finding out how bad alcohol tastes and how useless it was for him. He’s sure it would take up to four litres for him to get drunk, and he wasn’t too sure he wanted to go through the trouble. 

I t was probably fun, though less dramatic than he’s sure he’d initially expect. 

Instead of focusing on his surroundings, Peter thought out his day plans. If he was able to keep this job for a little while, he’d have to do Spiderman stuff in the day. He’d never really done that before, he’d figured there wasn’t much crime to deal with during the day. Plus his schedule had been free’d reluctantly due to not having to study anymore.

_What am I going to do_? He tried not to think about it. Without any promise of a future diploma he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do. He tried to convince himself a quaint job would do him just fine, there was dignity in that.

Even so, there was a certain kind of heartbreak with having your dreams crushed this early in life. Not like he wasn’t entirely used to it though. The Spiderbite hadn’t been initially perceived as a good thing.  _ It still sometimes isn’t. _

“Peter!” His boss yelled out, bringing him out of his daze.

“Yeah?”

“I just got a call, a... friend of mine is coming for a drink.”

“ _ Uh,  _ okay?”

“Yeah well it’s a little too soon to meet  _ him _ so you can call it a night.”

_ Call it a night?  _ “How long has it been?”

“Like five hours?”

Peter nodded, Five hours? It hadn’t felt like five hours, he hardly could recall most of the night. “Okay then…”

“Come back Wednesday, same time.”

It was good to know he was welcome back, seeing as he’s pretty sure he’d just cleaned the same glass for an hour straight but Weasel didn’t seem to care. 

“Oh, Okay. See you then.”

* * *

The basement smelled of smoke. The crispy unpleasantness of tobacco, which surprised him in a way. Ricky never seemed like a tobacco guy. They're expensive and unpleasant and Peters sure he once read a study about how little young people smoke now, though he can’t be certain if it's true or not... or if he ever read anything along those lines.

Aunt May used to smoke. He remembers her complaining about the lingering smell that would get her in trouble in her high school years. He thinks she has better memories of smoking then though. Ben used to refer to her as a ‘Dark Horse’ and Peter remembers seeing the pictures of her with a variety of varsity jackets and dark eye shadow. She was a proper Rebel in that time, and probably had a lot more fun in high school than he ever did.

He figures she only smoked then during the span of time where smoking was becoming dangerous to the public but still relatively normal to do. 

She quit for a while he thinks… or she never really did. The house never smelt like tobacco when he’d visit as a kid, though back then his sense of smell had been normal and his perception of the world was skewed childishly.  Peter wasn’t sure exactly when she started back up. He knows sometime after his parents she started hiding them out the back under a plant pot. He got in trouble for finding and asking about them once. She stopped maybe a year later, And Peter didn’t have to smell tobacco again until after Ben.

Ricky laid on the couch in which he slept on, puffing while watching some form of indie budget movie on his beaten up old laptop, propped up on a cardboard box. He didn’t look up as he shuffled over and patted the cushion next to him. Peter wasn’t in the mood to argue about the smell and decided to take the man up on his offer of the left side of the couch.

“Whatcha watchin?”

“Dawn at Midnight, or some shit like that. I knew a guy who used to work in a video store. Gave me a box of these movies no one would buy, this as one of them.” Rick always had a little story for everything he owned.

The screen showed a girl, with bloody feet and messed up hair. The sky was pink around her and she seemed to be crying… or laughing.

“Freaky.”

Rick blew out another puff. “You got that right, wanna go?”  The man held out the partially lit cigarette. 

“I shouldn’t.”

“Well we can all say that! You shouldn't have gone to jail, shouldn'ta started working for Weasel. You shouldn’t be here with me. But all that’s out the window so what's the harm?”

Peter felt as if some form of temptation metaphor applied here, but Ricks goofy grin and high on life eyes amused him, and even in his retort he smiled.

“Smoking kills.” He was quite sure smoking wouldn’t kill  _ him _ , but nevertheless.

Ricky shrugged. “Posh! We’d be lucky if it does.”

“You're a bad influence Rick.”

“—And you still haven't taken the cig.”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he took the cigarette out of his companions hand. He raised the cylinder cautiously to his mouth. His eyes glanced towards the expectant Ricky before he prepared to breath in something that wasn’t air.

It was unpleasant, he hadn't expected otherwise. But it was also satisfyingly interesting. There was this strange sensation of being underwater, but also having his lungs wrapped in heat. It was calming in the way eating liquorice or sour candy was, even if this could be counted as a little more extreme.

He wonders if he looked as cool as his Aunt must have when she did this in her youth, though Peter had adamantly left behind his. Of course soon after is pondering was interrupted by his sudden urge to cough.

Ricky laughed. “Oh it’s like every scene in the movies but better!”

“Oh shove it.” Peter giggled too at the silliness of it all as he handed the cancer stick back.

“Happy now?”

“Oh immensely. I can feel my manipulative power over you growing, how good are you with a shovel?”

Peter pushed the mans shoulder before He settled back into the couch. Getting as comfortable as he could, which mainly included terrible posture, the ignoring of the smoke in the air and side leaning on the pillow between them.

“How was your first day then.”

“Couldn’t tell you, I pretty much disassociated through the entire thing.”

Ricky chuckled at nothing. “Yeah that sounds like how work is.”

“You don’t have a job Rick.”

“Well let’s not debate on what constitutes as a ‘job’ now”

Peter ignored the Spiderman side of himself for a moment, allowing himself to get lost in a nowhere conversation.

“I don’t think dealing is a job.”

“You get money for it— and hey! you don’t know if i'm dealing again.”

“I know a hundred percent!” It would have been more of an accusation if Peter hadn’t smiled through it.

“Slander dude. Slander.”

Peter reminded himself to push aside this conversation later, who knows if he’d ever have to deal with his roommate as Spiderman. He was much too tired to examine his own morality in situations like this, even if a small sliver of unease sat beneath his stomach. He seemed to live with this unease, and it convinced him every choice he made was wrong. And every dip in the constant actions of good made him horrible. He ignored this, he was good at ignoring things.

He didn’t bother to ask Rick to move so he could sleep, or ask him to turn off the laptop or stop the smocking. Despite all odds he was weirdly soothed by this environment. It wasn’t high tense, and he was easily able to close his eyes and become enticed by sleep. 

His insides ached for food. He slowly realised all he’d consumed in the past three days was one serving of pancakes and cigarette smoke. His spine shivered as he felt the compulsion creep it’s way to his attention, and he wished to sleep.

* * *

She entered the house silently, her family had the gift of silent steps and even in these later years of her life the memories of sneaking in had conditioned her into gentle movements. Even if she was everything but gentle. Winter was approaching and she quickly closed the door so as to not let in a draft. She shrugged off her coat and made her way to the kitchen.

She thought about making a stew of some kind, something boring she wouldn't enjoy very much. She was never really the type for self satisfaction, and after all those years of only being able to afford beans and vegetables, she’d gotten quite used to the taste.

Peter had never liked stew, the few times they had meals like that when Ben was around he’d turn his nose up. She could laugh at the fussy brat he used to be. Of course later on he hadn’t minded stew, as long as there was enough for him to feed an elephant… which in some cases there wasn’t.

_Aunt May_ — she’d been fine with Aunt when that’s what it meant. When he was a little curly haired slob and would fiddle with her cabinets and spill juice on her carpet. She became scared of Aunt when it started to mean _Mum_ …

She wonders if he remembers his Mum, Sweet Mary who’d tear up at his tantrums and carry him on her shoulders. She thought for awhile he did, when he’d only call her his Aunt even though he was only six or so when he came into her care. Peter never called her Mum.

She’s not so convinced he remembers Mary now though. May hadn't been ready to be a Mum when they died. She still feels as if she isn’t. Peter was smart, _ is smart _ , if not a little foolish. They say kids are more intuitive than you notice, maybe the kid had known she didn’t want to be his Mum, wouldn't have wanted to be called that.

She loved that boy, Ben did too. But no matter how great of a kid it is, situations like that were hard.

She can’t imagine what it was like for Peter, he hardly talks about it. Hardly even talks to her anymore. May rubbed her eyes and pondered. Did she do something wrong? He’d been so promising and even with the disappointment on how things turned out, it hurt more to know he was out, and hadn’t even come home.

A family lived in this house once, A silent family. A family she wished had been done better, and one she wished had the proper parents. Parents who should have had a chance, with a husband that didn't hurt too much to think about. Things should have been better for Peter.

_ She _ should have made it better.

Why couldn’t she even do that?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I think this is important to say and reiterate. I write stories which involve things with magic or fictional powers and worlds. They may look like real life, but as I don't try to write real life I don't take time to go fully into how the real world facts and laws actually work. Many works don't, like medical drama inaccuracies or murder mysteries, which regularly show malpractice or otherwise 'fantastical' situations.  
> Only one story of mine so far is fully taking place in the real world, and it's set in 1984, based of a movie, in a ballet school in London. Things will be wrong sometimes.
> 
> I take interest in moral dilemmas, relationships and the psyche of a character. The world around them can be twisted to suit the narrative purpose needed for said character.
> 
> Anyway! another chapter~ I'm just pumping them out before my schedule becomes overrun again. Hope you enjoyed


	4. A New Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A talk between Peter and Tony leads to a warning about a strange new man in town. Drugs hidden within his room lead to some investigating and a new deal between him and his employer.

Spiderman made sure he was on the opposite side of town. Spiderman made sure he was as far away from both queens, and his  _ new _ life. Because even if Peter hesitated to acknowledge Ricks activities, and Weasels business,  _ Spiderman _ could not. 

His arms ached from a restless sleep and his stomach ached as the crumbs from a packet of chips Rick proved not enough to stop the instinct. The craving. The anxiety of not knowing when he would next eat drove him mad and took up nearly all his thought. He took every criminal distraction he could find, and even as the city woke up and his sensitive ears started to become accustomed to morning traffic, he distracted himself from unpleasant thoughts

Thinking of criminals, there were still things he would ignore about his roommate. An example would have been that very morning, when he’d ignored the awkward noises from a laptop and the even awkwarder ones that squeaked out of his roommate when he woke up.

_ “Really Rick? I’m right here!” _

_ “I thought you were asleep!” _

_ “That's still bad!” _

_ “We’ve been to prison Pete, stop acting like privacy is of any concern now.” _

_ “Why do I let you make these excuses!” _

Spiderman shivered, yeah that wasn't one of his top mornings. Though in all honesty he’s sure none of his six months spent had any good mornings. And well, not including that little hiccup the city was quite beautiful and he couldn’t see the day going too badly.

_ Incoming voicemail. _

He jumped back as an unfamiliar A.I surrounded inside the mask, discarding the sensitive sting of volume it surely was programmed to be aware of.

“Hey kid—”

He almost growled.

“Get to the tower, we need to talk.”

Tony’s message ended as it began, suddenly and without explanation. Peter rolled his eyes and heavily considered ignoring the entire thing. Since when was he at Tony’s beck and call? Spiderman had promised nothing more than to keep an eye out, so what in the world could be so important? 

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He deliberated.

The thing was Tony didn’t send unnecessary messages. And even with his own personal opinions about the man and his ethical history with underage heroes Spiderman knew it was his duty to keep this city safe. And if to do that he’d have to deal with Tony, then so be it.  Taking his time, Peter pondered. He could feel a bubble under the surface. A buildup of...tenseness and a slight pinch of unpleasantness that gave Peter the slight feeling he might have to borrow Ricks laptop.

Entering the tower during the day was much easier, mainly because security didn’t blink an eye when  _ Spiderman _ walked through the door.  Now that he thought about it, entering through the front door probably seemed normal with him being a hero and everything. But the thing was, Peter heavily avoided the place, and it was jarring to see everyone act like he was there every other weekend.

Peter probably hadn’t entered through the front door since his senior year tour, and he’d probably only done it maybe three times  _ as _ Spiderman. He's been less inclined to use any door as Spiderman back then, the web-slinging had steel been quite new.  Either way his frequency didn't matter really, he’d gotten an elevator to himself.

Peter remembered his senior trip to the tower quite well, his bad blood with the residents hadn’t set in then. He was just a young anonymous hero, rapidly gaining attention. naive as ever with maybe a few to many puppy love obsessions with a few to many Avengers. He was right glad that phase of his life was over, and quite lad how corrupted it had been.

Of course that trip It hadn't been his first time in the tower, he owed that to an at the time frightening (Then less frightening) (Then later frighting again) kidnapping that had led to the gifting of his first high tech suit. 

Peter scowled behind the mask, he’d become less and less approving of Tony’s unorthodox heroing techniques over the years, and less approving of the techniques implemented on him. _Who kidnaps a teenager like that? It was traumatic_. To think he’d been obsessed with that man and the ‘ideal’ he represented.

The halls within the tower contained stairs of mazes and he was glad to know his destination by heart, though he wished he didn’t.  The elevator dinged and as the doors opened a familiar smell wafted towards him.

A man, a mutant, was chained in the middle of the room. His growling seeped through the circular shield around him and his eyes were fierce and frantic. His hands clawed at the chains at his feet and a lions mane framed his blood dirty head. None other factor of this man interested Peter though, more than the smell.

That familiar sweet pink. Peter no doubt had dilated pupils just from it and the memory of fire and desire crept up on his mind and grabbed it’s full attention for the first time in months. The pink hallucinogens weren't here though, no wherever they had been, they were now well inside the lion man.

Bruce Banner turned his head towards the elevator before Tony did.

“Spiderman? What are you doing here?”

If he hadn't already been frozen still, he probably would have then. Despite the twitch of his hands and the need to get closer, Peter was conflicted about Banner. The physicist had been his and a highschool friend's biggest inspiration. They’d planned to go to the college  _ he’d _ studied at, they watched documentaries about him, studied him in class. Peters passion for all things science stemmed from only a few, and Banner had been one of them. _Like science mattered now. What has chemistry ever done for me._

He worked with Tony, and he’s basically an Avenger. Spiderman pulled himself together.

Tony didn’t look up from his tablet. “I called him over.”

“Why?”

“He’s closer to the city than we are. He could know about this stuff.”

Spiderman stepped towards the mutant. “Why’s he chained up? Why am I here.”

“Two reasons.” Tony spoke. “Firstly, we were able to get this guy back up here after a bit of a fight. We're trying to figure out what caused him to freak out. Got any ideas?”

The embarrassing sentence lingered in the air. Bruce rolled his eyes. Even Peter could tell Tony was trying to appeal to his curiosity. _What good did Spiderman do in these types of situations_? Despite Peter’s knack for academics and research Spidermans forte was a tad more...physically orientated. Peter was certain Tony wasn't aware of his past non-Spiderman interests. The whole situation seemed entirely odd.

He coughed awkwardly, trying his best to ignore the scent. “Has he been drugged?”

Bruce took interest. “It seems to be, we thought maybe some kind of knew thing. Which would be very bad given the implications but he’s been tested and all that shows is LSD.”

Peter hunched and fiddled with hands confusingly. “Doesn’t that explain it then?

Tony stepped forward. 

“Like I said kid. There's a mutant attack every other day, from normal ass people too. This guy is a fucking accountant! And—one of the few attackers who was open about his mutant with his doctors for years. He's not the kind of guy to do something like that."

Bruce nodded. “Not to mention Drugs like these hardly affect mutants! Even hardcore stuffs a bit like getting drunk or tipsy. Have you ever tried getting drunk Spiderman? I assume it would be hard, Harder for you than the others, I'm sure.”

He folded his arms and pondered the doctor. “How do you know that?”

The man shuffled awkwardly at the question. “Oh well...Research and educated guesses mostly. To have a range of other powers other than super-strength or one specific thing from a mutation is rare. It usually indicates a higher level of mutant cells than human ones. Like how the Hulk only really has one power, and this guy just has lion claws and a mane.”

Peter was quiet for a moment and decided nothing Banner said mattered. 

“Let’s not cause an identity crisis now Bruce. Why don’t you go re-analyse those blood tests? I’ll speak to the kid.”

Banner shrugged. “Fifth times the charm.”

They waited silently for Bruce to leave and all the more silence led to all the more of Peter's attention on the sickly drugs he could smell within the blood of the mutant. Who now had taken to growling at him through the shield.

“What am I here for Tony? I already told you I’d keep an eye out.”

“Deadpool's in town.’

Peter raised his eyebrows behind the mask. “Huh?”

“Deadpool, Mercenary, Hit-man. literally can’t die.”

The name raised a certain tone of familiarity. "What's this got to do with me? You want me to find him?”

“No! This guy is the definition of dangerous. You are certainly not going to be the one to deal with an immortal murderer. He’s starting to hang around and that only brings trouble. You hear about any assassinations or string of criminal deaths you stay away. Got it? This guy will worm his way into you and cause rot. You have to stay safe with that lunatic walking about.”

Peter could groan. _Of course_ Tony would call him in to give him some watery warning. Like he needed protection anymore. 

“I’m not a kid Tony! I can make my own decisions. I’ve been doing this for a  _ while _ .”

The man didn’t wince. “I'm serious. I’m staying away from him but if he comes near you just call. I’m sure Thor has a way to deal with this kind of guy.”

“Oh my god. Deal with whatever you need to! Don’t call unless it’s important next time!”

“This is important!”

“It's another criminal. Another murderer. Another immortal yada yada!”

“This guys do not like others. He’s chaos and death.”

_ Aren’t they all?  _ “See you Tony. Don’t call.”

* * *

Peter did end up borrowing Rick's laptop. A venture that was quite easy when the owner of said laptop was a bit of a pervert when coming to conclusions.

“Soap cutting? Really?”

Ricky pondered confused as a small knife scraped off cubes of soap within the video.

Peter sighed, releasing the tension from his shoulders as he watched. “They're calming.”

“Seems boring—”

“Shhh. I need this.”

* * *

Peter wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep, or how long he’d been asleep for. All he really knew was that the basement was dark. His eyes squeezed open and only a dim light from a depleted laptop lit the room. Peter wasn’t too bothered in darkness, another of his many quirks.

His roommate was nowhere to be found however. 

Nearly a week had passed since he’d moved in. A full week of growing used to the more than likely chance of sharing the couch and limited blankets within the room. The time seemed to flow in Peter's mind, he hardly recalled the past week.

He panicked for a moment, wondering if had missed work. The he panicked about how morally corrupt his work was for the millionth time. Thankfully the darkness in the basement had deceived him as he had about twenty minutes to get the bar before his shift.

For a normal person this would have been a hard feat, thankfully he had his own form of fast travel readily available.

He sneaked around the room despite him being the sole person within it and began to look for his clothes. Of course a pile in the corner contained them and he began rummaging around it looking for his socks. It took a couple of seconds before his rummaging led to the brush of his hand against a firm fabric.

A bag, blue and bare was hidden beneath the fabric, and Peter realised that past a suspicious amount of deodorant that  _ smell _ was back. Coming straight from beneath the bag.

He hurriedly tore open the zipper without a second thought, and looked upon a sea of pills and powder and paper strips, all coloured  _ pink _ . The same curiosity came upon him once again. This stuff was important. He knew it was. It was the cause of the state of his life now, and he was pretty sure It was causing other problems too.

He knew he should have called Tony, really  _ anyone _ who could have helped. His own roommate was hiding something likely very dangerous within the bonds of where he lived. He could have taken the bag to the police, of course then suspicion would arise on why  _ he _ even had the bag. That wasn’t mentioning how Ricky would react to any of those options. That man had little power over Peter and yet he felt no desire to do him any wrong.

Peter did have a hunch on where these drugs would have come from though, and he was headed straight for him. He contained many questions and Peter felt he’d have to do his own kind of investigation before he went back to Tony with any answers.

He quickly snatched a baggie randomly before dressing and setting off.

“Weasel?” The bar had yet to gain any traction yet and his boss stood bored at the counter.

“Pete! Thought you weren't gonna make it.”

“We need to talk.” He was quick to speak.

The man raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“What kind of drugs are you supplying Rick with?”

Weasel seemed displeased at the question. “Do you have a problem with that kind of activity? Cause if you do this place can always find another bartender.”

Peter shook his head and looked around. “Can we talk about this round the back?”

Weasel complied. “What's your deal?”

Peter slid the baggie out of his pocket, and ignored the desire to keep it out of the mans sight. “What is this stuff? There's a whole bag of it in our room.”

Weasel eyed it. “Huh. That's new.”

“You think!”

“Why are you asking me this exactly?”

“He’s my roommate.” He simplified

The man pondered it. “Well I couldn’t tell you. I just hook Rick up with the suppliers, what he gets doesn’t pass through me.”

Peter chewed on his tongue. “This is the stuff I got arrested for.”

This seemed to pique his bosses interest. “Oh?” Prompting him to continue.

“It smells like strawberries.”

“...You were good at chemistry in high school yeah?”

“Huh? How’d you know that?”

“I know what I need to. Anyway, I have a kit upstairs, the basics if you wanna take a look at it.”

“Now?”

“No! After your shift. We have some things to discuss.”

  
  
  


Peter couldn’t wait for his shift to end. It sped by hour by hour and it seemed finally he was able to investigate.

Using the tower's lab would have been more efficient, easier. But after Tony's previous conversation the desire to head back there was less than compelling.

Weasel wasn’t the worst lab partner, though his word was true. The ‘kit’ of his was only composed of the basics for drug making and nothing else. The upstairs room the man lived in was a pigsty also had hardly the safest working conditions but Peter would manage.

“You know those mutant attacks going round?” Weasel prompted. “Well there’s been rumours about this new thing. Strong enough to affect a mutant.”

"were'd you hear that?"

"Rick."

Peter stayed silent as he eyed the quantity within the pills, shocked. The pills could cause an overdose five times over. Weasel eyed the hallucinogen. 

“That's a lot of LSD.”

“And mushrooms.”

“Mushrooms?”

Peter nodded. “There's this sickly sweet smell. Sugar and fungus and fruit. definitely some Shrooms. Probably even more too.”

The man tilted his head. “That sense of smell of yours. You like a bloodhound or something. Airport police dog.”

After years of Spiderman work, he was pretty capable of detecting the differences between drugs. “I guess so.”

He sat frustrated for a moment, still having received little answers on where this came from and what it really did. He had no clue how normal people were coming into contact with it and how many were overdosing due to the quantity packed within a pill.

“You know I'm not too bad with these kinds of things. In fact I’m probably better with these kinds of substances than you.” Weasel smirked. “I think I could make these safe again… or as safe as these things can be.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it seems to be a quantity issue more than anything. They could probably go out into the world a little less dangerously too with some re-measurements.”

Those words alleviate some stress. Maybe if some of the problems with these drugs were fixed, they’d at least be a little safer than whatever the fuck was going on with the pills in front of them.

“Though I don't know why I’d do that.”

”...What?”

“Nothing in it for me.”

Peter felt the tension and distress creep up once more. Sometimes he forgot the men around him were conniving selfish criminals with only their best interest in mind, even Rick.

“Of course I’m sure my goodwill could compel me...with a little push.”

He frowned. “What do you want, Weasel.”

“Oh so harsh! not much, just your nose.”

He felt silenced.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know just because These drugs don’t run through me doesn’t mean I can't get them to, and it doesn’t mean that others don’t. You could be useful. An easy way to know I'm getting what I pay for, and an easier sorting system than colour coordination I’ll tell you that.” Weasel smirked a rodent grin.

He felt sick to the stomach. His moral compass shattered by a bat wielded by others. “You want to use me.”

“Well you already knew that, It’s why I hired you. And hey! I’d be sure to raise your paycheck. I’m not heartless.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Yeah and isn’t everything cupcake. Look at it from the outside. I could be having you do Ricky’s job, or other more violent options you're not in a position to refuse. This is the lesser evil Pete, and you're getting something else out of it.”

“It's an offer, I can't refuse.” Peter bit out through clenched teeth.

“Something like that.”

He should have gone to Tony. Should have done more. Should have wanted to go to Tony, wanted to do more. There were a million other options, other roads that didn’t lead him down the path of criminality. What would his Aunt think? 

He was tired. Oh how tired he was. There was a sickness of his morals and guidelines that he felt the need to indulge. Nothing mattered more than comfort when comfort was all a person could work for. He wasn’t any more comfortable with the Avengers than he was here, but at least here he got something in return. At least here he wasn’t treated like a child.

He was treated like a mark. A commodity to have, and that was easy. Acceptance was easy. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took my time but another chapter down! Can't wait for the plot to progress, oh how good and horrible things are to come~   
> Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old story revamped and made a little more mature, with what I think is better writing overall and a much more meaningful story that delves into some deeper problems. Hopefully this version lives up to my hopes of the first one.


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